A Woman and a Vampire
by death-in-the-orchard
Summary: Because of a review from a pleasant person called Flyrisha, this is a story involving Dracula and a woman - which resembles the situation in Beauty and the Beast. There is no Belle. Dracula could never be as soft-hearted as the Beast, at least in my mind, but there is a resemblance.
1. Chapter 1

Well, because of this nice review (below) I decided to start this story. I'm not sure if I will finish it since I want to focus on other stories I'm trying to continue/finish, but I've established what could easily become a complete story. (I only read through this once, instead of a million times, so I'm sorry if there are typos or awkward sentences, I spent a few hours writing it today)

(I cut down the review a bit)

'"_Flyrisha 6/17/12"_

_"So here's my request. After reading Blanche, I wondered If perhaps you could write a 'real' Beauty and the Beast story with Alucard as Dracula (Obviously an AU universe), But I really enjoy the way you portray his personality in the stories you have written where he is Dracula. Though I like the 'right' woman to come to his castle this time and...well, basically follow the actual story line so that there would be a happy ending of sorts too._

_A big ask I know, but having read you alot lately I know you would be perfect for this, I know I'd love it if a story like this came from you. (okay final thing, I you decide to do even dream about indulging me, then whatever you do, please let this be an Alucard, well Dracula/OC story. I think that would work the best.)_

_PLEASE! think about it or otherwise call me a dreamer and I'll try to keep my trap shut. Anyway love your things and no matter what I would love to see more of your Dracula stories as I am huge fan of Lost Sheep and There is Nothing Beneath Hell. _

_Thanks alot love ya! Bye"_

__:)

She just made me so happy. So thank you Flyrisha. I tried to keep Dracula's character the same, and I know it doesn't follow Beauty and the Beast exactly (just resembles it), but in any case here you go, this is what I've managed to write so far.

(And I know I've gotten nice reviews from other people, but in this case a little spark of inspiration helped me...along with a huge chunk of free time)

* * *

This man… The Count had already drawn out whatever worth the mortal possessed- whatever the miserable coward could offer him, so the man cowering in the filth, sickly hands gripping the iron bars of his dungeon door and hacking out what could be his final breaths- this pathetic man was worthless now. However, the Count possessed no bloodlust that night - an obscure miracle that would permit the sickly being to wallow in the filth of the deceased victims that had visited Dracula before, for another night.

The tower imprisoned the human as the demon descended into the darker confines of the labyrinth beneath his castle. Wolves, whose loyalty had been sworn to the vampire, were equally tame. They did not sing to the moon, and feasted quietly after a silent kill. Dawn rose over the horizon, an edge of pink that fanned out into the expanse of the sky as the sun awoke and cloaked the presence of the moon with raw light.

However, down below in the nearest town, where people had dared to live despite the knowledge that filled their bones with the natural dread for a wicked, evil creature – the one who was called Count, and who lived on their flesh and blood, the flesh and blood of any human throat the demon could tear – from one uncovered window the face of a woman stared coldly at the sunrise, finding no beauty in it while the foulest darkness rested just beneath it. This hatred seethed in her blood while the steady pumping of her heart flooded her body with the ache it experienced, the throb that made her lips twinge and her eyes suddenly catch fire, burning with tears held back by her will, as she desired the liberation of her beloved parent - her aged and faded father who now shook with cold in the corner of a stone cell, up in a tower where the wind flew through the empty windows to howl and torture him as it starved his body of warmth.

Black hair shone with resilience, remaining dark and in grief despite the spirited morning of a sky content and without such worries as hers. Dark eyes were even stronger as they took in the world and consumed it, adding depth to the gaze that would not be overwhelmed despite the salt water that glistened on its edge. She was alone in the room she had been raised in – alone in the town she had always dwelled in. Her isolation was defined by the wills of the people she had once looked upon fondly. They did not care. They knew of the fate that had most likely claimed her father's life. He had been called away to the castle days and days ago, many sleepless nights ago for Stefania, daughter of Lucian, the man who had once taken the role and responsibility to guide the people of this town. Yes, the people who now forgot his existence, killing it, offering it as a sacrifice to the dark prince of the dead.

Selfish and cowardly, were these people. Stefania could only glare at them and feel her resentment boil in her chest as their shapes emerged and grew in number as the sun rose higher and higher and the danger presented by the monster that hunted them, was diminished.

Cowards! These men with arms bearing the strength and power of their youth; these men who would not approach the castle to rescue the aged man who had spent the majority of his own strength and power protecting and aiding them - who had spent his life and now was losing it all for their sake. They, these people, these vermin… They did not deserve her father's sacrifice! They did not deserve to touch the earth they walked upon!

The black eyes caught on a face, growing, drying as a snarl lifted Stefania's lip, her neck twisting as her vision brought an expression of antipathy to her fine features while a woman in the street below smiled and playfully tugged on the sleeve of one of the cowardly youthful men who had deserted her father. A whore of a woman! A whore! How dare she! How dare any of these filthy creatures call themselves men and women, the creatures of God? How dare they! They are the men and women who would have watched and done nothing as the Lord's very Son was nailed to a cross and slowly died to erase their sins!

She could scream with the rage that let her claws dent the wooden frame of her window. Air brushed her burning cheeks and pushed her mane of midnight hair back and away to reveal the full blunt of mortal passion when it is turned to loathing. Her eyes glared and her teeth were barred in the snarl, the resentment that refused to release her lips. A hand struck the marked wooden frame, a bit of her fury expelled in a violent blow that numbed her skin. The snarl was crushed by the teeth that clamped down as shoulders hunched and a mind dove into hot desperation.

The fools could forsake her father, but she knew the value of one who had given her life. She would not turn her back on the man, now that he was dead or if he was still living. Her soul would not carry the burden of betrayal. Judas would not be her name.

Just as the Count had descended into darkness, she descended into sunlight. The beating hooves that threw clouds of dust to linger in their wake, attracted many eyes that would fill with surprise and then empty, tipping to view the ground as shame bent their faces, unworthy of the basking glory of a star as valiant as the one that climbed over the mountains and flooded their gloomy houses with light.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

The castle had no gate to protect it, for none dared to stand before it while bearing the knowledge of its contents. Nothing forbade Stefania from entering the stone castle other than the locked doors. The sharp glint of her angered determination found the window that reflected the daylight now towering in the center of the sky. The woman ran in directions, searching the ground for a stone large enough to shatter the glass.

One was lifted by her hands and carried to the window, where her anger was reflected for an instant before the crash, the rain of sharp slabs that fell and broke into smaller fragments. More stones were hurled at the ill-fated window, shattering what they hit before clamoring against the marble tiles within the castle. Echoes swelled in the great hall as raw light shone through the growing hole. The noise traveled deep into the corridors and other empty veins, even breaching doors that had not contained such sound since the layers of dust that covered the contents of the rooms they hid had been merely the width of a letter. Now inches of grey particles blanketed furniture and trinkets alike.

The booming roar of the woman's wrath beat with the drum and clash of destruction. The window gaped before her and showed her a realm much darker than any she had been accustomed to before her father had been taken. Now though, she neither feared the darkness nor found it unfamiliar. She had been living in a perpetual moonless night for what felt like ages, in a realm without the father she so dearly cherished.

Hands did not fear the shards that left shallow cuts. She brushed away the glass and then hoisted herself up and maneuvered through the window where she left faint marks of her blood behind. In the great hall where echoes were just dimming, her pants rung softly, as if the stones were fondly supporting the woman's essence, her life and strength and her emotion. Her head turned and she saw many paths that she could take. Her feet ran across the marble and to her left, the footsteps quickening and stopping at intervals as her search brought her to rising levels of confusion. Stefania's mind did not possess the fear of becoming lost. She pushed onwards and often upwards, climbing stairs and rattling doors that were locked, on which she would pound and call for her father to reply before moving on. For the doors that opened, her intrusions were short as she rushed to determine that they held nothing.

Her rage became more frantic as her breath became heavier and heavier and sweat dampened her brow and clothes. Her pace became slow as she continued, but used her strength more wisely, able to grasp reason beyond her fury when it wavered. The woman's search dragged on and on after it became silent and ceased to disturb and rile the air. No demon had come for her. No demon would come for her until sunset, she determined, working through hours that lowered the star above her.

The rooms seemed endless, and as their number grew with the number of her disappointments, the doubt of her father's continued existence increased. Was it really as hopeless as it all felt? Should she turn back, go home, and spare her own life?

No. She feared the weight of the betrayal more than she feared any death the vampire might bring her. She was prepared to die, and this kept her hands steady and her legs strong as door after door was opened, and hallway after hallway was explored. The castle did not defend itself against this dissection.

Hunger stuck blades through her middle, and weakness ate at her limbs, but no end was possible until she could find her father's body, warm or cold. It is in times like these that questions can be pondered, such as the puzzling mystery of how human beings could survive for millennia with a nature as self-destructive as this. Man is a conundrum, as the same passion that kills him may also lead him to live out a successful existence, lasting long and adding life to this Earth, the beastly purpose.

The sky grew crimson and still she walked and her footsteps clacked softly against the stones. With each step, she believed she drew closer to her death. Her hope faded with the sunlight, but her strength was internal and so could not be touched by the outside world.

The sky was still red and the tip of the nearest star was still above the lowest land, but a soundless presence that belonged to the night began to stalk the woman who had broken into the castle like a rampant marauder. The presence that was also the lengthening shadows of the castle walls knew that the old man lay in his eastern tower. Curiosity could allow no anger, though it was difficult to anger one so old, a being whose existence lived off of the patience to endure eternity. The woman strode from room to room on the western side of the castle, where her scent filled the corridors and marked many tested brass handles. Her clothes were distinctly perfumed with the scent of her hours of fruitless toil. It would take her the endurance of the night to find the man she sought, but the shadows did not wish to wait. As soon as darkness dominated the interior of his castle, the Count removed himself from obscurity.

A torch on the wall suddenly lit itself, a flame that worked as well as ice to chill the human halted by fright. The fear entered her scent, growing more pungent when stiff shoulders, holding back a shiver, turned to allow round black eyes to gaze back at the pale face of one living but dead. Stefania did not face the monster, but she watched him with her body forward and prepared to run, to resist the attack when it commenced.

She suddenly wished, with stomach curdling horror, that she had never come to the castle. But as her initial terror wore off as moments of silence lengthened with seconds, her regret became a reflection on the different weapons she had spotted in various rooms and failed to take with her, such as a poker from one of the fireplaces. Now, her best defense was distance…and the demon Count stood only a few steps away.

Crimson eyes…the eyes of a demon observed her, the pale face around it, expressionless. Dracula took in the woman's full reaction before permitting a slim grin, smug in some sense, to lift the edges of his lips. The change jolted the woman who jerked forward, prepared to flee.

Her face had drained of color and was only a few shades livelier than the monster's. This white face twitched, eyes staring wider when a voice emerged from the deceptive smile, grazing the amusement lingering on his lips. "Welcome, my uninvited guest."

Fangs were visible, sharp tips over the ridge of the gracefully formed words. Chills were causing Stefania's body to break out in cold sweat, her heart fluttering and growing wilder as she stood before the creature. Her father… She had come for her father… She should not forget her father… And she had failed him… As soon as these thoughts entered her mind and she acknowledged her fate, the panic became blunted, but it remained just as strong. No living body wishes to die, despite what the mind tells it.

Her eyes did not wish to blink, so strong was their fear, and water began to make them damp. They were forced to blink, and each time look desperately for any signs of the vampire approaching for the kill.

Dracula's smile remained, fixed like stone. His eyes could watch forever without interruption. And now he spoke again as the woman failed to respond. "You risk much to be a visitor in these halls. Clouds are numerous and reaching tonight… Soon the castle will be too dark for your weak eyes. You will be blind, but will you still wander?"

Stefania could say nothing. She could only stare and breathe, which was quite a feat for one so defenseless. She had not been toppled by her despair.

The vampire's smile grew wider by a fraction that only fear-sharpened senses could detect. He was taunting her…the beast was going to torture her, tear her apart mentally, break her down, and then assault her neck. Stories told her of the ways this vampire fed, ripping, slashing, tearing, holding the body in a constrictive grip like a snake, breaking bones to squeeze the very last drop of blood from the smallest vein. Then the demon would most likely tear open her chest and feast upon her shriveled organs. Or perhaps he would leave enough blood to keep them plump and moist.

But time would give her answers. It was eminent, the death that awaited her.

Her tongue moved as her lips twitched. She swallowed. And the vampire saw this, for he was always watching. Her every movement, noted. Dracula's patience was taking its toll on the mortal sufferer beneath his gaze.

Black eyes darted forward into the dark hall, and then flew back to the vampire with her heart racing with the fear that he might have come closer or chosen to kill her in the moment her eyes had moved away. Her chest heaved, a deep gasp as a hand stretched towards her. She could only stare at the vampire while his hand gestured to the darkness. "You may enter it if you wish, but then you will be blind. You will lose sight of me. You will not know where I am…beside you, in front of you, following your slender, unprotected back… When would I grab you? Or would I? I might simply catch your neck in my teeth…suddenly…unexpectantly…and then the shock will flood your veins with the most delicious fear." Amusement marked the corners of Dracula's eyes when the woman's chest filled with a single, drawn out breath, so much like a slow gasp…

He could eat her now…but he preferred entertainment to any meal at the moment. He possessed two bodies filled with blood on which he could dine whenever it pleased him to. The old man in the tower…and the delicious maiden who would be a rich feast, a very rich feast…at any time. The Count's eyes moved as the woman took a step away from him, adding to the distance between them. He knew this did not matter. At this point she was clearly his.

"Does the old man interest you at all, my dear? Or have you come to see me alone? Your entrance was so _aggressive_ - something must have possessed you to trespass here. …You are welcomed to speak. Silence will tell me to assume my own answer and then do as I wish after."

A flare brightened the rim of the demon's irises as the woman's back straightened slightly and movement worked her mouth, loosening it as the vampire waited. "My father…" Stefania spoke clearly in a voice whose tone only dimly showed her state. A change came over her face, as if it was warming, bringing back a little color into her cheeks and relaxing her eyes. There was still fear, though. This did not surprise the Count who found all of it to possess a very weak charm. His interest was fading, but nothing was exposed by his stagnant features. The smile was still a smile with a touch of amusement and smugness.

The woman found strength in her throat and spoke once more, her tone improving - as was often the case when humans fell into the delusion that they were safe at any moment in the presence of the vampire. "Where is my father? If you have not killed him, I will take him with me. I have a horse ready outside."

Shock strummed the nerves extending from the mortal's brain when the dead being's head tilted to the side. The expression had not shifted. Nothing but the position of the head had changed. However, the movement, the pale ghost-like radiance in the dark, with the flame of the torch a moving light source, the motion was hauntingly unnatural.

Stefania felt her shoulders tremble, and her jaw tightened. "Will you let me take my father home? He does not belong with you in your castle. He is not yours, despite what you believe. …He is mine." The talk of possession had not been intentional, but wandering thoughts had allowed the outrage she felt in some region of her mind to surface. How the Count treated humans, taking and keeping them without any mind for the relatives or others who needed them. Despicable beast. Her expression had hardened as these thoughts continued after she had fallen silent, her eyes actually forming a glare while her mouth frowned. She was showing the vampire the anger that presently masked her fear.

The Count paused to appreciate the look, and then his head straightened and the still lips stretched. Dead steps, softly letting the demon's boots make sound against the stone tiles, approached Stefania, striking the anger from her face with the return of desperate reality. She became anxious and edged away, her knees weakened by the surprise. The vampire stopped before reaching her, she remained untouched, but now he stood much closer to her than he had before. He loomed with his superior height. A fang filled grin leaned over her. The woman, by recoiling, was brought to cower before the great monster.

"'Yours' and 'mine', what does is mean when you pull its limbs apart and inspect its parts? 'Yours' is anything you have the power to make your own." The face moved closer to Stefania's. She shrunk as her lips parted to allow deeper breaths to feed her rapid heartbeat. She was pale. "Are you claiming that you can overpower me, my dear one? You who is built with matter I could rend and shatter –it wouldn't take much of my time, pulling you to pieces. An arm, a leg, your head – oh, but you are so sweet to suggest this. You do this because you love your father, hm? Does this make you a good daughter? Well, it is a testament of your loyalty, your stubbornness, your foolishness – Yes, foolishness…yours does resemble that of the grey old man. But yours is much stronger. Much stronger."

The smile turned as different feelings swam through the woman's dark eyes. The Count kept his fangs visible now, just to torment her further - so when he was not smiling, the pointed ivory daggers pressed on the outside of his bottom lip.

Anger revisited the human, a creature of wanton passions. "Do demons see Men as fools then, when they show bravery? You who are all cowards, hiding in the dark, coming for the defenseless and young, or taking the old? But my father came to you. You did not snatch him like prey. He came to you as a man. But you see no threats around you. You fear nothing, do you?" She slid out partially from beneath the watching, unflinching features, staring into the red eyes that pulsed…like flames of a candle swallowing mouthfuls of fuel instead of burning steadily. Stefania had moved closer to the wall and could feel the heat the torch emitted behind her back, hottest near her wrist.

The expression still did not change on the vampire's face as Stefania did all of this. She swallowed uneasily. "You are never called to be brave, where you swoop like owls and we scurry about like mice. Your hunt is easy and simple. Hide in the darkness and strike them from behind."

"Are you blaming me for your specie's weaknesses?"

The voice was not as complacent as before, but it genuinely possessed a questioning tone. But it was a question of her logic, not of any greater matter. Stefania was forced to hesitate as the vampire's words rattled both her resolve and her pride. "I am calling you a coward."

"Because you are weak and useless?"

The immediate reply had not been expected to contain so little emotion. Instead, the one who became heated was the woman as her muscles flexed with indignation. "No." She scowled at the insult, her foot slipping back a degree. "You are a coward because you never have an honorable _fight!_" The volume of the last word rose as she grabbed at the torch, first with one hand and then both. But her spirit was jarred as her hands continued to tug and the torch remained stationary. Desperation yanked and pulled, but only the flame moved.

Terror-stricken eyes, expecting an immediate attack, turned to the Count to find that the light of the fire showed no expression on his face. The smile was gone; his features were flat and stony with an unwavering gaze just as strong as it had ever been. He had been watching her quietly and made no move as her fear remained connected to his face while her hands pulled blindly at the torch, the effort becoming meek. Her chest rose and fell quickly, all thoughts deadened within her mind. Her voice was airy as fragmented, shallow thoughts came from her mouth. "You're keeping it there. You won't let this be fair - you won't let me defend myself. You're a coward-" Fear fluttered in her heart and her eyes grew more round. "A coward." She stated again, her hands motionless though they still held on to the edge of the torch.

A violent cringe lowered Stefania as her head ducked away from movement, her eyes shutting as she braced herself. Her breaths came rough and hard for a moment before she peered up at the vampire's inflexible stare, and then let her gaze travel down the reaching arm that touched the metal that was fused to the wall and equally attached to the torch. It was immovable by design.

Horror crept over the woman's flesh with shivers sneaking into the muscles of her neck and shoulders.

She could make out the claws that extended the creature's fingers, and the pale, colorless skin that resembled that of a corpse. Beyond the cuff of the Count's black sleeve, white extended to the very tips of his nails. With sudden intention, the hand released the torch and moved up to the wood near the flame. There was a splintering sound as the dead grip clamped down, which agitated Stefania's nerves. She retreated away when a great crunching snap beheaded the torch. Then the head carrying the flame was offered to her.

Light illuminated her awe. She was mute and did not accept it.

"This is the weapon you desired. See if you can kill me with it. Turn me to ash. Then take your father away. Make him yours if you want him."

Reason suddenly made the fire meaningless, as Stefania viewed the torch currently held in the demon's hand. It would do nothing. …If she was holding it right at this moment, what would she do? Throw it at him the same way she had thrown the stones to break the window? No, that could never work. The vampire would move. A vampire could not be so weak. She could lunge and attempt to catch his clothing on fire, or singe his hair…it was that pathetic now that she considered the torch with a steady mind. It was all useless.

Her eyes blinked when the torch was drawn away and held closer to the vampire. Her eyes met the Count's tireless stare. "Now you won't take it. I would give it to you, but you no longer want it… Here-" The Count's left hand lifted to his chest, presented together with the torch held in his right hand so that the woman might watch. "We shall see what this weapon can do against me."

A shallow gasp slipped through Stefania's lips as her own hand recoiled in pain and her knuckles moved to her mouth. Fire bathed the bottom of the demonic hand, darkening and burning it. The smell of burning flesh clouded the hall with black streaming smoke. Dracula wore no expression and showed no response as he scorched the bottom of his hand until it was black. Then he moved the flame just far away enough to allow human eyes to inspect the gruesome scene…and then widen with shock and repulsion as the flesh bubbled and then smoothed. The burnt blackness of the skin quickly faded to grey and then back to the perfect white once more.

Stefania said nothing, her sight becoming unfocused, concentrating on nothing. Her eyes shut and her body coiled, arms coming to her chest while she tucked her neck down when the torch was extinguished by the grip of the mended fist. Darkness enveloped the mortal and the beast of the night.

Shivers were impossible to restrain when the woman recoiled from the touch of a dead hand grasping her shoulder. Next, icy breath filled her ear and spilled over her face and down her neck when close, intimate jaws spoke. "It was a good try, my sweet one. But now this has become dull." She waited for the strike of the dagger fangs. She waited for the violence. But the face pulled away and the grip gently coaxed her to take a step, a turn, and then another step and another. Useless eyes blinked at the pitch darkness as the woman was guided. "Let's go elsewhere. To the tower, perhaps? You might enjoy visiting the old man. Yes? Would you?" Nothing came. The dead hand squeezed the living shoulder. "My dear, you need to tell me if you would like to see your father. I will decide something else for you if you pretend to be deaf and dumb."

"Yes!" Came a weak gasp. "P-please. Yes, I would…like to see my father."

A purr rumbled smoothly from above. "Good girl."

The pace was not hurried, intending to make the journey more comfortable for the woman as they moved through darkness. When windows were passed, which happened rarely, they glowed like silver ghosts that chose not to follow them, remaining obediently still.

A door was opened, and Stefania found herself at the bottom of a tower with spiraling stairs ascending through a moonlit space. With the return of some of her sight, her eyes glanced at the vampire. The Count's impassive expression changed when red noticed her attention. An amused smirk appeared, while ivory fangs remained hidden.

As if mocking the role of a gentleman pleased him, Dracula took her arm into his own and led the woman up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

_This story is meant to be something fun to play with so I have not combed through it as many times as I normally would - if there are errors, I'm sorry, and feel free to tell me about them. I'm enjoying this story so I have to voice my thanks (again) for the request. I had entertained the thought of writing a Beauty and the Beast-like Hellsing/Dracula story before, but I know original characters are not appreciated and I had other stories to write...and then if I put Integra in Belle's position that would just be a joke (her father would not be so weak, and if someone did manage to steal Arthur (or Abraham) Integra would beat down the castle doors with a battering ram and torch Dracula or in some other way painfully kill him...**ZERO** chance for romance)... But Flyrisha's review convinced me to start writing - how she laid the story out was easy enough, and...well, I've enjoyed playing with this. So, thank you again._

_Have a nice day._

* * *

Stefania was not a cruel woman, though her resentment could often be interpreted as cruelty, but that observation would be false. She could not be evil, though she could be hard, stubborn, and unforgiving. But never, never cruel – at least, it was never meant to be cruelty…for there was never an ounce of enjoyment stemming from it.

The tired and strained woman tortured her calves in order to seek the full extent of her height, standing on the very tips of her toes as her hands grasped the accumulated filth that had become a texture of slime over the bars in the cell door. When she looked upon the ashen face horribly disfigured by misery and hours of relentless terror – lines of these emotions carved into skin by the working of the man's muscles – Stefania was not exhibiting cruelty when she failed to feel anything for the first few moments she gazed at her father, found in such a state. He was unrecognizable, brought low, made to be hopelessly pathetic - nothing like the man who in her memory had always possessed strong hands and a sturdy grip that could encase her own hands when they needed him. He was no longer a parent - instead he was a victim, some wretch in a reeking hole, looking out at her with eyes incapable of anything more than sadness and fear – he, seemingly a mute, staring at her, never speaking.

This was not her father… But…this was, seen from every perspective of reality, in all actuality, undeniably…her beloved parent.

Suddenly the image, the reflection of memories she saw in his dark eyes identical to her own, tore an explosive fury from the fibers of her being that broke down her human identity in the way exactly opposite to the breaking down that had occurred for her father. Where he had fallen and disintegrated as a result of the vampire, Stefania now, as a result of her fury, rose up as if as a great pillar of fire, a hellish star rising in the darkness. Her face burned, blood collecting as heat beneath her cheeks when she turned on the Count, her fingers, daggers that tore into his clothes. The physical manifestation of her rage emerged before it could be placed into words, and her arms and muscles propelled her hands as they suddenly clawed and pushed with no distinct target, the abruptness surprising Dracula. This feeling was evident when the vampire's feet brought him back a few steps to escape the sudden onslaught of passion.

A growl evolved into a snarl, and then a shriek of anger and frustration when enough harm could not be done to the creature. _"Monster! Monster! You monster!" _She cried like a witch with her voice pitched as it was against the stones in a tower that chose to add depth as well as power to her words by making them echo. "You godforsaken monster! _Oh!_ How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you do this? How _dare_ you make him this way!" Her voice shook, but not with weakness. The sound itself seemed to be buckling under the weight that her spoken hatred carried. The daggers became clubs, fists beating against a hard body that would not be moved by her human force. "You've done this! You've done this! Oh God! _Oh God! _What you've _done!_ How you've- you've _ruined_ him! _Ruined him!_ My father! My only- my precious- dear, _dear_, father… Oh, you horrible, evil, damned thing! I will _kill_ you! I will kill you for what you have done, for all the sins and evils you have committed in this land, in this cursed existence you lead! I will tear out your eyes so that you may never find another victim, so that a man will never be touched by you again! And then I will lock you away from your precious darkness! I will force you to burn and crumble in the light! You will- I will- Oh, _you!_ I will kill you, Monster! _-Ahhh!_" She screamed as she beat him, fists pounding. But the Count did not respond.

His face was stone, dead of human feelings. But the eyes watched, and no arm lifted to strike the woman he could destroy with the smallest, unrestrained movement of his hand. Her fury continued, raging, savage in the total lack of restraint – restraint, an ability Man often glorifies as being a defining characteristic of his species. That and knowledge – both things that Stefania and all other humans in her position lose in the degenerating fits produced by their powerful emotions.

Time was not dimming her anger… Change had to be forced.

A hand that was chilled, without a drop of heated, life carrying blood in its veins, slipped beneath the irate woman's chin, moving back until the last three fingers of the vampire's hand were pressed against her pulsing throat while one finger curved around the base of her jaw and a pale thumb rested, pressing down on her bottom lip. The mouth, the throat, and the human lip were hot, but hotter still was the breath Stefania panted, the heat emitted from the screams of rage cooking in her chest, ready to blast forth, to rant until her mortal lungs gave in or melted in the fire of her unrelenting hatred.

The mortal instantly pushed at the offensive hand, but, to her initial surprise, it did not move. She pushed again and then grabbed and attempted to twist the wrist. She tried to pry off the finger on her jaw, tried to bend and break it. Still nothing could be moved. A vice carved from ivory had clamped down and then taken root in her flesh; the cold was sapping her heat, her fury, the human anger that had blinded her. The star descended. The pillar of fire was drowned, collapsing, and so the woman returned to the stark reality that was pulling the blood down and away from her cheeks, leaving them cool and pale. From fire she became ash dissolved in icy water – and from the concluded explosion, volcanic gore from the Earth's heart hardened to stone.

The brightness in the black eyes faded as the woman stared, tamed, subdued, not defeated but now made to use her own reason to control herself – the human restraint, for her survival. The Count did not remove his hand, holding her face steady, her eyes forbidden to look away as his own gaze entered them. With a shiver, the mortal frame lost the feeling of flesh and became skeletal, every bone exposed as a wind passed through it – the sense of Death invading her. This caused the captured human to gasp.

But then the hand detached itself and came to rest at the vampire's side.

Nothing was said for some time as the woman collected her bearings, her scattered mind, holding herself, rubbing her arms to return heat and life and feeling to them. She felt as if she had been plucked up by some great invisible hand and then dipped into the flowing river she would come to meet after death – completely submerged in ice. Her shivers were natural, never perceived as weakness in the crimson eyes burning like blood coated gems illuminated by the blazes ransacking pillagers set to towns and castles they simultaneously burned and emptied of worth.

It was what the eyes did naturally, it was the nature within them – to burn, to destroy, to strip down the human essence, the spirit, to lay waste to what is, to erase what can disappear, and cripple what will not fade. The ghost of Lucian was the man destroyed; his soul plundered and emptied – robbed and soon to be turned to ash, to be erased entirely.

Now the eyes saw the treasure that glistened within the woman who stood before them, and the Count examined her contents in silence.

Stefania swallowed, her eyes flitting from stone to stone, sometimes striking the wooden door and the bars that would let her see into the darkness within her father's cell, while her heart fluttered about desperately in her chest like a bird caged by bones. Her arms refused to end the embrace that held her body together, so she dug her nails into her flesh, through the sleeves that covered it. The eyes turned up to the demon, teeth chewing the lip that still tingled – the skin that was alarmed and outraged at having been defiled by such a dark and evil touch. The mortal was frowning at the immortal before her.

"Why," her tone of antipathy endured while the voice emerged as a low and steady whisper, questioning the vampire, "-why have you done this to my father, Count? What did you have to gain? What did you want that could be taken from an old man, an old man who had earned the right to live and die by the nature of his mortality? Did you want to kill him? He's sick. He coughs, and he shivers from the cold. It is freezing in here, and that is killing him! Why would you want to kill him? He has always left you well enough alone. He has always kept foreigners from disturbing your castle, from wandering through it while you slumbered – all of which was an aid to you. It must have been helpful. He must have been helpful – just, as he was. …Why did you take him from me?" In the last question her voice shook with the overwhelming feeling that had made it shudder with strain before, but now it twisted as it turned inward, piercing the human chest, the source of human feeling. It possessed a twist of pain.

It was quiet in the tower, beside the moans of a discontent wind that pressed its tormenting chill into the stones, and the coughs that passed through the bars of her father's cell. The air that touched the two figures breathed waves of movement into their obsidian hair.

The Count smiled with cold humor that showed his sadistic nature, his warped pleasure. The expression frightened the woman after a flare of indignation sputtered out at the sight of pale lips parting, the sight of fangs emerging. Black eyes were wide when the demon's voice came. "Why do I take anything from anyone?" The tone was merciless while it possessed a touch of arrogance. Stefania took an unintentional step away from the creature who smirked at her position – beneath the gaze of a demon that took pleasure in creating fear and misery. "I take it for myself because something within me…tells me that I yearn for it. I desire, and so, must quench that desire by filling the stomach of the beast in my mind, the beast in my belly, and, when I was living…" He paused to discern what expression the woman wore before his words. Then his smile curled. "…the beast of my loins. All of my human greed and hunger, the animal within the being said to have been made in God's image - that was and is still rank with sin."

The disturbance was obvious, her pinched brow and drawn back lips, the scowl of abhorrence that showed itself to the object her disgust. The introduction of a snort and a fang filled grin that chuckled mutely, subdued the anger as the question of safety returned, shifting the words towards herself, identifying the threat that paled her cheeks and allowed despair to crinkle her brow for an instant. But the weakness passed and she hissed at the vampire, anger without words.

The vampire closed his smile, but the threat of the fangs remained in his sparking eyes. Crimson flames breathed, within irises and then from the wall when a torch sprang to life. Stefania started, distracted by the light – a reflex that suspected harm. When she moved to look at the vampire again and instead found nothing her lungs filled with horror, cold air sucked in by a gasp, and her blood lapped up the emotion as she shuffled back, turning, searching with panic contracting her muscles, clamping down on her heart. Her head whipped in the direction of the cell door when unoiled hinges screamed at the agonizing friction that tortured them as the door was swung open. The cell gaped with Lucian as the old man staggered back, frightened and cowering. He fell into the filth, beside grime coated chains and the dead still bound in them. Shaking hands, weak and shriveled, protected the man's head, becoming tangled in white hair while the face of the man was brought low to the ground of filth.

Stefania could only stare, wounded deeply by what she had seen - each moment her father remained as he was on the floor sent one painful blade after another flying into her chest, impaling her own human dignity with both revulsion and dread of ever reaching such a despised state – as well as fear of being as ashamed as she felt her father, at this time, deserved to be.

But the agony she experienced with these thoughts could not define her reaction as cruelty. She suffered more because of the love and care within her that shriveled, trying to escape the sight to let go of the image, the past feelings that broke out in a hysterical fit, thrashing within her, crushing her innards. Hands clasped the cloth over her chest and stomach as the pain made the woman recoil, shoulders hunching while eyes and a face could not break away. Her ears seemed to bleed as her torment grew to new levels when whines and whimpers sluggishly made their way out of the stone pit of filth as the being within it wept.

A gurgle within Stefania's throat, her own whine, the ache of invisible blows- Bitter pain spread from her nose, touching cheeks, burning in her eyes that filled with water, hot against the eyes as it welled and drowned them, and then hot against pale cheeks they spilled onto. Backing away on feet that moved without a mind, the body of a woman with features filled with suffering retreated as it let out a sob. The body doing what it could to move away, to escape, to live beyond the moment that threatened to overpower and destroy it – what would kill Stefania. The eyeless feet continued even as they approached the edge that would send the woman plummeting down the steps, the empty heart of the stone tower. The unnoticed vampire holding the cell's door open, watched as peril grew imminent. And then boots moved soundlessly over the stones. An undead arm passed behind the woman as the blind feet moved her into the vampire.

She let out a ragged gasp and fought to get away, groaning before yelling at the demon whose white hands had clamped down on her wrist and opposite shoulder. "No! Monster! You monster, unhand me! Don't touch me! I will kill you! I- I need to kill you for this- for this- you monster, demon of Satan!" As she shouted and pulled at the grip, tears continued down the glistening paths of their established streams, emitted by reddened eyes. Then came again the anguished, moaning voice, shaken by withheld sobs that made the woman's speech unsteady. "Oh!" She moaned, hanging her head, dark hair limp around it or stuck to her wet cheeks. A sob escaped the human. "Oh! By God, if I don't kill you in this life, I swear I will murder you! I will torture you! I will kill you in my next! If I don't come again, Count, I will force my way into Hell and beat down the very power of the Devil to reach you! I will hurt you! And I will make you beg for my forgiveness, for my hatred for you to cease – but it never will! _It never will!_" She roared with weeping animosity swinging her hair, catching more of the strands on her face when her chest released another sob within Dracula's grasp.

The undead creature was silent, showing nothing on the surface, but the eyes gorged themselves on the woman's hatred that grieved as it was denied fulfillment. The Count knew the feeling, though it was distant, and while it pricked at memories of himself…what it inspired most was pleasure - entertained and engrossed in the behavior of a living thing that could threaten him, a thing that contained feelings that were stronger than the inherent desire for survival - the obsession with life and the preservation of the self, and the fear of pain, death, and loss. With any form of death, be it her father's or her own, this woman would continue to burn with the essence of what she was, indefinitely.

Then there was something that drew the creature's head towards her, moving the vampire down with his hands pulling the woman closer as Stefania groaned with exasperated feeling. Her eyes shut, prepared for death when the altered position of her body brought her head back, free hair moving away while the strands caught in her tears remained plastered against her face - obscuring her eyes, mouth, and cheeks. Fangs were bared. Hunger was present. Blood pulsed, and the vampire's tongue wanted it, seeing it through the open jaws. But the fangs hovered over the woman's neck, her hair touching the Count's lips and part of his face, but the molten fire in the crimson eyes dimmed quickly to become the glowing candles that were always present in the dark.

The jaws shut. And Stefania did not die that night.

Dead and not possessing this in itself, a pale hand experienced the memory of life in the pulse of the wrist it held, keeping the feeling as the demon released the woman and gently guided her away from the peril her blind feet had almost fallen into, before gliding as a shadowy phantom to the cell and the weeping man within.

Stefania was breathing hard but she watched Dracula while his demonic gaze remained on her. The smile he had greeted her with reappeared as an open hand extended to the side, in front of the cell. Then the smile lessened, thawing, losing its biting chill. The mouth showed no fangs. It housed no threat at all, but an attachment to the interest, the keenness in the red eyes glowing above, both the gaze and the pale features distinct against the darkness of the demon's hair and the dirt within the cell. "So you do not have the power to take him for yourself. You cannot make him 'yours'…can you?"

Stefania shuddered, breathing in as pain spiked, pulling her brow up as her lips quivered. Her widened eyes reflected the scene and expected to soon see it drench with dripping red. "Oh God!" was her airy whisper, her hands twisting the cloth above her breast. She was frozen, unable to move with the weight of the truth in the vampire's words bearing down upon her. It was time for the fatal wound to be given, the one that would destroy her. Oh God…father…my father…

Dracula observed, pleased as he had been pleased before to see her outbursts - when she now remained in control of herself. Her eyes were on the old man. All thoughts were centered on him. She was not showing fear or concern for herself. No dread of her own approaching end that would obviously follow the execution she was about to witness… No, nothing for herself… This showed strength, not in body because if one was looking at the body then only weakness would be seen. But it was strength of emotion, human emotion which in myths and legends was said to be so great, but was in these times dying… It was shining, a human soul that was still composed of a burning white spirit.

This treasure, the vampire who wore no expression now as his demon eyes continued to observe, the treasure within the woman was not his. Her life, her body was laid bare and defenseless before him, but her soul…he could not reach it.

And one of the beasts within him told the vampire that he must have it.

So the pale hand continued to display the coward who was rotting in the cell and a voice, as void of danger as the lips but as heavy as his gaze, brought Stefania to see the Count once more. "Since you do not have the power to make him' yours'…would you be willing to give me something in exchange for this man? Would you, if I were to allow it, be opposed to a fair trade?"

The woman could only stare but the suffering that had been tugging on her features and her chest loosened. Her lips were parted, unable to respond as the bewildered mind, crippled by too many recent explosions of emotion, would not believe that the vampire had just handed over to her something that had been lost in the darkness ages and ages ago when the demon had lit a torch and separated himself from the inky blackness. Here, in the hand and visage of Death, she was being offered hope.

The light in Dracula's eyes was as motionless as the moment, silence spreading out over the stones, all ears deaf to the howls of the wind or the senseless noises coming from the delirious old man who lay amongst rotting human filth and bone. Stefania, cold in the tower, looked at the vampire, the face that bore no lie.

The white hand remained, reaching over the gaping mouth of the cell, and black eyes viewed it, stunned as the words came again from memory upon see it. Stefania let herself examine the hand, her father, the open door, and then the form of Count Dracula, pursing her lips before she swallowed. Her brow rose and fell as hope tussled quietly with her reluctant doubts. She took in and let out a breath, and then spoke in a hushed tone. "I am willing to make a trade with the devil if it means my father will be free from you."

The light in the crimson eyes flared and then ebbed, the twitch in the pale hand passing unnoticed as fire pulsed within the undead gaze. The lips were empty for a time, and then the corners slid up the vampire's cheeks, forming a grin that narrowed Dracula's eyes with humor. "I will let him take the horse you have left waiting in the courtyard, and I will let him return home." Their eyes remained locked, the vampire's unmoving while the human's would widened and blink, moving in response to what the creature said. There was a pause that did not separate the two, a pause that kept Stefania's hope restrained. "…And once the horse is gone…and once your father has returned home…you will be left here… You will stay in my castle, and you will never leave."

A breath filled Stefania and the woman frowned, regarding the vampire with a look of confusion and dismay. Finally, the human tore her gaze away from the Count, and her arms tightened, holding herself as she stared at the stones of the floor. One step turned her away from the vampire, and then her hair fell forward on its own accord to shield her face from the demon's view.

Dracula was not pleased to find that he could not see her expression, but he made no effort to force her to expose her face. He waited with patience that could have persisted until the end of time. And no words came from him to convince the woman or influence her decision in any way. He gave her space. He gave her quiet and freedom to choose on her own.

If she rejected his offer, he would kill her and then, as he imagined himself in the midst of rioting disappointment and frustration, he would toss the old man down the steps, flinging him over his daughter's body. And then he would kick the woman's corpse so that it would tumble after Lucian. Then, their bodies would be left to rot wherever they stopped, and it would most likely be decades before the Count would again return to the tower. At that time perhaps, he would put it into use once more. But no sooner than that time.

So the monster waited silently in the darkness for the answer. Stefania moved again, showing her back to the demon.

Then, she whispered, "…He is in no fit to ride…let some of the townspeople come and take him-"

"I will make sure he stays on the horse."

The abruptness of the voice alarmed Stefania, so she spun, her arms releasing herself as she saw the vampire drag her father from the cell, the old man whimpering and crying incoherencies. She rushed forward as anxiety cast off her mortal fears, reaching out to grab the old man, suddenly afraid of having the vampire take him away while forgetting the danger her own life was in. "_No!_ No, let go of him! Let go of him!"

Dracula brushed the woman and her urgent hands aside with his free arm and then moved past her quickly - he seemed to flow into the gloom like a drop of water returning to the sea, a measure returning to its natural body. In mortal eyes, he traveled as a ghost with faint edges that distinguished his form which would intermittently fail, causing him to fade from existence. Down the steps the demon descended, trailing the old man's whines. Stefania stumbled after them, frantic with her cries. "No! You'll hurt him! Stop! _Stop!_ Father! No- Father-! Where- Where are you taking him? Count! _Father!"_

Her own voice rung against the stone, echoing above the clamor of her shoes, with her hands slapping the walls as she rushed down the steps, losing her sense of balance as she turned in circle after circle. "Count!" Her screamed pierced her own ears, building upon her other lingering cries. A dry sob came from her throat, soon followed by a much damper one. Tearful shudders jarred her breaths and made her pant as her head became light and dizzy, always spinning.

Fear shot through her gut when realization struck her, halting her limbs and holding in her breath to listen to the silence that rose up from the dying din. Terrified and beyond all thought, Stefania scrambled, clawing at the stones in the wall that wrapped around her, bringing herself to the nearest window and peering through it. She moved to the next, and then to the next, gasping pants heaving her chest as her tears were forgotten. She found a window that showed her the courtyard and she clung to it, her hand reaching through the vertical slit to grasp the outer stone in order to hold herself steady, one eye able to watch the horse and the two dark shapes around it. The horse was moving fretfully, but its whinnies of fear could not reach Stefania in the tower. So her memory of the vampire tying her sick, elderly father down on the horse like his body was a sack of goods, a lifeless object that had just been traded and was being secured as luggage. The man was lying down, the rope looping around his body. And then a blow landed on the horse's rear, making the beast bolt through the courtyard and through the open gate, disappearing as it shrunk to nothing in the distance.

With a sudden wail, the hand grasping the stone outside the window slipped back and Stefania slid down the wall, dragging her hands over the cold, rough surface before she fell to her knees, her weeping proclaiming her loss and misery. Her forehead buried in the stone that chilled her palms. And shaking sobs wracked her body and filled the echoing tower with her moans. "Father…my father! Oh God, my God, _why?_" She shuddered and gasped, stone digging into her forehead. "Why? Please why? My God…? Oh… Oh… Oh…"

The moans went on and Stefania was left alone, no vampire coming for her until the tower was quiet and empty of her sorrow. When he found her, the woman was composed though she kept her swollen eyes directed to the floor. She followed the demon when he led her from the tower. After a time she realized he was guiding her with a lit torch, and then recognized, with a slight shock and flush of relief she was partially ashamed of, that she would not be staying in her father's cell.

Curious glances passed over the walls, finding paintings she had not noticed before in her mad search for her father. But their maintenance had been neglected and each frame housed an image coated in dust. Some were torn by decay, limp flaps that would make great artists weep and shake their heads at the disgrace. Stefania felt a little of their sadness, but such small feelings could not be made to significantly influence a body as wounded and numbed as her own. They traveled in silence for a time as the woman decided that though she was his prisoner, she would not be one willingly. She would never speak to the Count. She would strive to be difficult, unreasonable even, if she must.

But soon questions and the thought of never speaking to another being again for the endurance of her life, brought out her voice. She spoke to the back of the Count's head, able to see part of the side of his jaw and one white, slightly pointed ear. But her questions fell away when a rigid, gravelly voice came from her, bitter and hardened by loathing. "If my father dies because of what you've done to him or because the horse wanders to the ends of the Earth while he starves to death on its back, then our deal will be broken. And I will be free of you…and you can believe, without a doubt in your mind, that I will be back to destroy you, Monster."

Her nostrils flared as she glowered at what she could see of the Count's face, but the vampire did not show that he cared that she was speaking to him. He did not turn to look at her and continued without a word. Irked by this, the woman hissed.

"If he dies, then the trade is fouled. Broken. Ended. There would _be_ no trade."

A few more steps passed before Dracula responded, never turning his head or slowing his pace. "If a man trades with another man and one or the other breaks the object they had obtained…how is it the other man's responsibility to return what he had received from the trade in order to make the other man content? He would only be left with a broken and useless good."

Stefania seethed, outraged at how he spoke of their trade, how he referred to her father…and to herself. "You damaged him! You strapped him down to a saddle! I wanted him to return home! You said he would return home! How can you guarantee that horse won't-"

"I have made sure that the beast knows to bring the old man to his home." There was a pause as Stefania collected doubts and confusion. "Do you mean to tell me you have no faith in what is called the supernatural? You think I do not have the power to make a simple creature do my bidding? When you have heard stories told of my wolves?"

The woman knew the stories and kept quiet, convinced that the horse would indeed go where it was bid. Their steps replaced their voices, and Stefania dimly listened to the Count's soft tread, noting that he was no longer taking on the qualities of a ghost. But she began to scowl. "Still, you sent him off the way he was…sick…feeble. If that results in his death…then, as I said before-"

"And you think that if you had your freedom now, all the freedom and time you could possibly hold- you believe in your mind that you would be able to destroy me?" The cool voice traveled back, nearly toneless.

Stefania fidgeted with ire and resentment that was reflected in her sharpened footsteps. "I would burn your castle to the ground."

There was a startling scoff that showed a slightly humored feeling of annoyance. "Fool of a woman. Burn stone? You might as well attempt to kill me, you're more likely to succeed in that."

Curses ran rampant in the mortal's mind as she balled her fists and heavy steps stomped into the stone tiles and then into a rug that muffled them. "I would amass an army of those who you've forced into grief in your past, Count. And we would together-"

"Bring a feast to my doorstep? My, are you a thoughtful woman. I was expecting another naïve threat to kill me, dear."

"We would be there to tear you from your sleep and to cut off your head and throw it into the sun to burn!" The heated retort was raised with emotion and filled the hallway before branching into several others until it faded to a murmur. Black eyes saw one of Dracula's ears move, telling her that the demon was smiling.

"My dear, there is no difference between the two. Your intent would be meaningless and the result would be the same. There would be several dead bodies, and one full belly. …You are wonderfully foolish. Women have always been such silly-minded creatures."

"You! You-! How dare you-!" Spluttering with rage, the woman was prepared to assault the vampire with her angry yowls, but a sudden rigidity that entered the Count's shoulders brought her to her senses, reminding her of the ever-present danger she would now live in. The idea chilled her skin. A shiver passed along the back of her arms as the skin on her neck roughened, the bumps spreading like the plague – the human being powerless to stop it.

She had annoyed the vampire, and her body had read his posture and subdued her in order to ensure Stefania's next breath. The Count would have to remain in good humor for her to have a chance at a long life…

But…under these conditions…did she really want to live for much longer? Would she be able to endure being confined with a monster? Let alone a monster she personally loathed?

The question kept her distracted until they arrived at a door. The Count opened it, deaf to the creaking hinges. As Stefania squinted into the gloom, she was forced to flinch as several unseen candles sprung to life and filled the room with light that poured into the hallway. Her brow pinched as her mouth bent into a frown.

Dracula observed this, his face of stone bearing no carvings resembling human emotion. "It is not to your liking?"

A glare was thrown up at the vampire and the woman's mouth creased as her frown deepened. "It's filthy."

The Count's stare was unbroken when he replied smoothly. "Then clean it." The life of the torch was suddenly snuffed out, and Stefania took a few steps away when the vampire turned suddenly and adopted a long stride, leaving her. The empty torch was tossed away where it clattered loudly against the stones that dented it and made Stefania cringe and shrink back cautiously into her room. Her hands caught her door and left only a crack of space while the rest of it shielded her body from the undead creature that stalked away from her, fearing he would turn in a moment to exact some form of punishment for behavior he would not tolerate. But he only spoke as the distance grew. "All of the rooms are filthy. Use any one you like – I brought you to one I believed might please you, but let that not limit you. Only the locked doors will tell where you may not go." Seconds after his voice died, the ghostly vampire was swallowed by the gloom and had ceased to be in this world.

Stefania blinked into the darkness, her eyes and pupils growing and shrinking while her hands squeezed the door, inching it close as she kept two, and then one eye trained on the darkness. Once it shut with an audible click she let out a long breath, her mind and body empty. Suddenly fatigued, but filled with too much turmoil to experience hunger, the woman let her head rest against the cool wood of the door, feeling faintly that the door had not managed to escape the seemingly endless and overabundant dust either. Finally gathering enough soundness of mind to continue, Stefania's body creaked as she turned, prepared to stumble towards the bed and collapse on the blankets, regardless of how filthy they were.

Her eyes stared into a shape her nose nearly bumped into, and dull pupils flicked up to a pale face that gazed down at her own.

"And do not break any more of my windows."

The impossibility of the vampire standing before her when he had clearly left made the woman scream as one wave of cold horror after another flushed through her as it battered her nerves, drowning her as she pressed back against the door with no way of opening it or of going around the vampire to escape to another part of the room. _He was unnatural! Frightening! Haunting!_ – her senses shrieked, causing her momentary distress. Her high scream went on until the Count's second step to her side. Then she fell silent as the third brought the phantom being through the wall, and then he was gone – for a second time, she was alone.

Bemused and completely drained by this last shock, Stefania could manage nothing beyond tottering to her dusty bed, pulling back the blanket that sent a crumbling sheet of dust tumbling down into the rest of the gray matter, and then collapsing onto what filth was bearable. She did nothing as the impact of her weight sent up a plume of dust particles, and the woman let them settle wherever they liked on her aching body.

She slept well into the next day.


End file.
